Our Songs, Our Family
by Doctor Khan
Summary: They are agents of change, bringers of Order. They know no family but their brothers and sisters in arms. They are Stormtroopers of the First Order. These are their stories, their songs, that you may know them as more than just that. (Takes place before and after Episode VII)
1. Chapter 1

_Our Songs, Our Family_

 **By Doctor Khan**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Star Wars universe. It owns me**

Author's note: I've got something of an Imperial soft spot in my heart, at least for understanding the people involved in it. This goes for the Old Empire and the First Order. While the Sith/Ren guys are obviously not very nice people, I find the stories of the people in the organizations to be fascinating. Thus I created my own idea of what it would be like. Needless to say, as these stories take place before and after Episdoe VII, that this is AU.

Chapter One

 _Happy Name Day_

There was a buzz in the air that kept everyone on their toes, and energy was throbbing through the mess of thirteen year olds. Each one of them was clad in a black tunic that hugged their features. For the boys, it was starting to show definition of their muscles as they became more physically fit for the lives of soldiering. For the girls it was not much different, their arms in some cases just as toned as the boys. Their feminine features, mostly still developing, were clear now in their tight uniforms. In contrast to their tunics, stark white cargo pants adorned their legs, tapered at the end where their white boots with black trim met. There were just over two thousand kids in the room. Kids was a rather loose term. None of them had really ever been a child. Taken from their parents as tribute, the first born kids of every family within their glorious nation. From the moment they were five years old, they were educated in the history of their nation, the nation they would loyally and faithfully serve: The First Order. Formed from the remnants of the glorious Galactic Empire, the First Order were the survivors of the chaotic rebel insurgency. The Rebellion, now calling itself the New Republic, was simply an amalgamation of greedy, corrupt senators, each one locked in a never ending struggle for power with their fellow senators. Everyone knew that even the First Order had senators in its pocket. That itself showed, to the men and women who lectured in the classes, that the Republic was a system that was not meant to succeed. When your greatest enemy could buy out your inner components, it was time to change. Democracy was the anti-order, the repainting of the decentralized society that gave way to the first Empire, where order and peace reigned. You could dress it up as much as you liked, but a failed system would always fail.

That is where they came in, the cadets of the Stormtrooper program. They would be the agents of change, to restore order to the Galaxy. Theirs was a noble cause. After all, it was why their parents so readily gave them to the First Order, and their teachers instilled that into them. The first years of their lives were to determine if they could even become Stormtroopers, glorious agents of change. Free of any and all physical and mental inhibitions, they had made it to this day. The day when they would finally get their Stormtrooper designations. Everyone was excited to throw away their cadet names, and he was no different.

Sitting at a table, sandwiched between two larger boys from his class, he say. They refered to him as Cadet Trill, named for the 27th letter of the Aurebesh alphabet. Ever student in each class received a name after one of the letters. There were over 60 'Cadet Trill's in the Academy. It was impersonal, blunt, and gave him no pride. It was a meaningless name to him, a necessary burden he, and everyone else, was forced to carry before receiving their _real_ name. To his left sat Cadet Senth, and his right was Cadet Usk, seated in the order their name sakes appeared in the alphabet. He had soft tan skin, creamy in complexion, and dark brown eyes, framed by jet black brows. His soft black hair was neatly combed to the side, high and tight like all the other boys. He scanned the stage in front of him, his blue eyes darting from side to side. It was a very elaborate set up. A black podium stood in the center of the room, red flags draped from the upper balcony of the academy, framing it. A couple dozen Stormtroopers lining the dark grey walls, sticking out like beacons of pride, examples of who, and what, every Cadet would become one day. They were the first Stormtroopers. Everyone knew that some of them had been around when the Empire fell, but most of them were the very first recruits, trained by the veterans of the last war. It had been 20 years since the Empire collapsed after the battle of Jakku, where he had learned that traitors in the Navy were responsible for the destruction of the pride of the Imperial fleet, crashing it to the surface of the desert world. Some of the troopers in the hall had seen combat against the resistance already, and he couldn't wait until he got to begin his military training. His education was complete, but he was only halfway there.

Suddenly the Stormtroopers shifted, turning to attention, standing tall and proud, staring straight ahead, looking over them. Their mentors marched out, all 65 of them clad in dark grey uniforms, their aged faces resting atop their high collars. Various military honors and bars dotted their torsos, showing the cadets that these men and women were to be given the utmost respect. They had stared chaos and defeat in the face and come out stronger than before. Former Pilots, Captains, Commanders, all tasked with the training of Cadets. He spotted his instructor in the line, Colonel Bartuk, a former ground commander and prisoner of war, captured on Jakku. He'd seen his soldiers die around him, and had only been captured when subdued by a concussion grenade. Bartuk's eyes briefly rested on his class before shooting back up into their neutral position. Cadet Trill felt honored to be part of a war hero's class. Not that any one class had a better instructor than the other, they were all chosen for their jobs because of their stunning records in the first war.

Suddenly, someone the Cadets had only seen in passing emerged. His black cloak billowed behind him, covering up his dark grey general unform, and two Stormtrooper captains, identifiable by their red shoulder pads, trailed in his wake. He was the headmaster of their academy, the one who all their instructors answered to. Cadet Trill was brought to attention as his voice boomed over the crowd.

"Cadets! What do you serve?" He asked.

"Order!" they all cried out in unison.

Not skipping a beat, the headmaster replied, "How shall you serve?"

"Without fear, with ferocity, with utmost loyalty!" They all replied. Perfectly rehearsed and from the heart. Not one of them had anything else on their mind.

There was a pause as he surveyed the crowd of teenagers. Just over two thousand of them, they were by no means a small group, but not the largest. This was a small academy, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. There wasn't much correlation between academy size and trooper performance.

"You have made it this far, because you have proven to us that you have the minds to make it. This is your first victory, for there can be no order in reality without order of the mind," he said, beginning his graduation speech. "But you are not done, as you are not yet complete. The spirit must be brought to order. The body must be transformed into a vessel for order. This you will do, this is your next test. Today you will receive your designations and move on to Stormtrooper training. You will learn to shoot, to kill, and to obey. You _will_ succeed, and you will become order itself."

It was short and sweet, and it invigorated all of them. They sat, silent, but their spirits vibrated an energy of teenage eagerness to succeed and break the next obstacles that lay in their path. They were invincible, and they would prove it. However, next came the hard part.

They'd all made friends in their Cadet lives, but a new chapter was beginning. No two Cadets would be assigned to the same Trooper Corps. He briefly looked down the line to the young black boy, his friend Cadet Forn. Forn looked back at him and gave a soft smile. He was nervous, and for some reason that upset Cadet Trill. He gave a nod before turning back to the headmaster.

He and Forn had good times, the kid was shy, but that didn't bother Trill. He was a introverted person as it was, and hanging around someone quiet like Forn was nice. He would miss the kid, and he hoped he'd make it through alright.

The headmaster began reading through academy classes. A lot of names were called, and they all headed off to the back and out the door, where their new commanders waited. Finally, it was his turn.

"Cadet Class sixty two. Cadet Aurek," he said, and the tall blonde boy at the first end of their line stood. "GB-3492. Report!" Newly anointed GB-3492 saluted proudly before marching down to the back, exiting the room, and this chapter of his life. Other Cadets were called and he cursed the fact that he was so far in the back of his class. A number of new designations were called out. TB-9281, JM-1995, FN-2187, RD-6631, going down the line. Senth marched to the back of the room, now proudly MH-7492, and it was his turn.

"Cadet Trill!" He stood, his heart pounding. Of course he didn't care where he got sent, there weren't exactly any legends about this corps or that. FN, TR, CB, TM, it didn't matter. He just wanted a _name._

"RE-1313. Report!"

He did his best not to grin as he saluted, nearly smashing his hand off his forehead before turning and marching down the aisle and through the opening in the room, the voice of the head master announcing giving more names fading behind him. He was partially excited because this part of the academy had never been open before. He'd never left, and this was going to be his first steps out of here. As he made his way through the doorway, he came to a large hangar, ships hanging from their docking ports and Stormtroopers moving around, loading up supplies and new students into various shuttles. He stood in awe, like a child, until someone bumped into his shoulder from behind, jarring him. He turned his head, stunned, to see a boy with dark red hair storm past, his face hard and stoic. The boy looked at him out of the corner of his eye before heading over to the ship with the letters 'RE' illuminated as a light blue holo sign beside it. Great, 1313 thought to himself, an asshole already.

Still, he swallowed his response to the unwarranted aggression and walked over where a man was standing in a dark blue officer's uniform. He has grey eyes that scanned the mob of thirteen year olds. He had fifty five new recruits, ten less than every other corps. While that seemed low at first, to 1313 it said that the drop rate of his corps may have been smaller. Maybe the RE corps was better than the rest? He felt a tinge of excitement at the prospect.

"Right, get your asses on the shuttle!" he barked suddenly. More than a few of the kids seemed jarred by the sudden, coarse, reaction of their commanding officer. No introductions, no quick speech, just an order.

They shuffled on board the shuttle, and 1313 took his seat as soon as he could, sitting beside a boy with a messy head of golden hair. The boy grinned at him, and stuck his hand out. "1322," he said, introducing himself, though he seemed to be quite pleased to simply be saying his name.

"1313," he said as he grasped 1322's hand in his, shaking it firmly. There was a swell of pride in his chest at using his own name for the first time.

"Well that's unfortunate," a voice said. They both turned over to see the red head sitting across from them, a frown no his face. He seemed as if he was disappointed by their overly friendly greeting. The boy with golden hair tilted his head, "What do you mean?"

The red head didn't take his eyes off 1313 as he spoke, "13 is an unlucky number. You've got two of them," he said, and there was almost a hint of smugness at being able to point that out. The golden haired boy seemed perplexed by this, as if he usually had a clever reply but one escaped him. He seemed almost apologetic that he couldn't defend his friend.

"A double negative," a new, softer, voice said. The three of them turned to see the boy sitting beside 1313. He had thin, light brown hair and pale eyes. He smiled softly, "There's a saying in math that when two negatives appear they cancel out," he elaborated. "So, two unlucky numbers might just be lucky," he said hopefully.

The golden haired boy suddenly beamed, "Yeah! That's right!" he said, turning his happy gaze from the pale eyed boy back to 1313. "And we won't let you forget it, Lucky," he said.

1313 blinked, stunned. Had he just earned a nickname? The golden haired boy, almost reading his thoughts. "You know I like that better than '1313.' So from now on, I'm gonna call you that. Nice to meet you Lucky."

Lucky was suddenly embarrassed, recoiling from the sudden affection. The kids in his Cadet class had all been close, but they sure hadn't given each other nicknames. He looked at the red head, who seemed very displeased with the informality of nicknames, then to the boy who had kindly pointed out a simple math fact to them, then back to the golden haired boy. "Well," Lucky started, "What are we going to call you?" he said, awkwardly trying to keep the conversation from dying down.

The boy seemed taken aback, "You can't just give yourself a nickname!" he protested. The red head spoke up after that, "We can always call you big mouth," he said in a snarky tone. The golden haired boy glared at him, "Yeah well be can call you big red," he retorted back. The red headed kid glared but kept quiet, turning away, which only turned to be awkward as the whole shuttle was packed with the rest of RE corps. Still, the topic had been breached, and now the golden haired boy was eagerly awaiting Lucky to come up with something clever.

Lucky scratched at his hair, "Uh, we can always just call you twos," he suggested weakly. 1322 seemed dissatisfied with that, pursing his lips in annoyance.

"Duce."

The three of them turned back to look at the soft spoken boy who had dubbed 1313 as Lucky. He seemed to shrink as he continued, "It's another way of saying two," he mumbled out softly, clearly deciding he needed to stop making suggestions if he wanted to remain unnoticed.

However, 1322 seemed to favor this very much. "Oh yeah, that's a good one!" He said, satisfied with his new name. He turned back to the soft spoken kid, "You sure know a lot, huh?"

The kid seemed to shrink even more at the compliment, simply shrugging, as if Duce was about to start making fun of him. Duce chuckled, "That's awesome. They'll probably bump you straight into engineering! Not the field like us grunts," he joked, though there was a definite hint of pride in the idea of being a 'grunt.' "What did you say your name was?" Duce asked suddenly.

Lucky suddenly realized that, for all his participation, they'd never even asked his name. He smiled shyly, "RE-1374" he said. Duce nodded, a pensive look resting on his face. "Well, since you're so smart, how about we just call you Book?" Lucky nodded enthusiastically, speaking up at that.

"Yeah that's a good one!"

1374 pondered over it, as if trying to decipher if they were picking on him or not, before he nodded. "I like it too."

"You know we aren't supposed to give each other nicknames," the red headed boy said, quickly immersing himself back into the discussion. Duce made a mocking face, "Oh yeah, where does it say that in the regulations?"

The red head seemed stunted by that question, as he pondered over it. He finally settled and scowled at Duce, "Well they give us designations for a reason. The Order wouldn't want us to have these unofficial names." Duce seemed perplexed by this one. For all their fun and games, they were still loyal cadets. They didn't want to come off as going against the Order.

This time it was Lucky who spoke. "Well it's not like we're changing our names. I'm still RE-1313," he argued. "Besides, don't you think that nicknames will make it easier to communicate in the field?" he asked. This seemed to sate the red headed boy's ire at the flurry of nicknames.

They could already hear people all over the shuttle making friends and dubbing each other new names. More often than not, they were variations of the numbers at the end of their designation.

"Anyway, what's your name?" Duce asked the red head. He turned up his nose at Duce, and curtly responded "RE-1460. And I don't want one of your stupid nicknames," he said, turning away once again, done with what he no doubt viewed as a childish conversation. Lucky frowned at that. Why was this guy being so mean to them about something so simple? Duce just snorted, "Wow, the cold shoulder!" he joked.

His joking smile turned into a wicked grin. "That's what we'll call you! Frosty," he said, teasingly. 1460 seemed absolutely incensed at that. "Don't you dare," he hissed.

Duce just held his hands up in surrender, "Alright alright, I take it back," he said.

They all knew that was a lie.

The shuttle lurched suddenly and they could feel it take off, floating into the air before shooting out into the atmosphere. They'd spend the next five years onboard a ship, where all Stormtroopers trained. That ship would be their home and station when they finally graduated. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited, but he'd also be lying if he said he wasn't scared. Still, he would do what was destined for him, what he was meant to do.

He couldn't wait to get to it, and he knew his new friends, Duce and Book, couldn't either.


	2. Chapter 2

Our Songs, Our Family

Chapter 2

 _Under the Helm_

The sounds of blaster fire rang out through the shooting range, red beams flying down towards their targets, smashing into the charred blast proof backdrop. The holo targets, depicting men and women garbed in Republic battle armor and gear, flashed from blue to red when a bolt passed through them.

It had been six years since RE-1313, dubbed Lucky by his friends, had arrived aboard the Order Service Vessel _Regulator_ , and it had served well as his home. He was originally nervous about spending more than a couple years on a ship. Those fears were alleviated soon, as he had more to be concerned with, despite not having been off this ship since his Name Day. Passing his Stormtrooper tests, and how well he did, determined his role to play in the coming war against the Republic's doomed proxy, The Resistance. So far, he was guaranteed a spot in the front. He had excellent accuracy with the blaster rifle, and his physical fitness was well above average. He wouldn't be sent to Special Forces any time soon, but he was definitely above the mark.

He discharged the magazine after he emptied it, and slid a new one into the F-11D rifle. He brought it up to his eyes, aiming down the scope and let loose another rapid fire barrage of bolts, his rifle gliding expertly between the various holos that popped up. He hit most of his marks, some did take a few extra bolts, but he hit them. He had completely gotten used to shooting with his helmet on, though it had been difficult at first. He'd heard rumors that their predecessors had frequently suffered from an array of negative effects of firing through their helmets.

Warping of depth perception, accidentally mashing the stock against the chin and ventilator of the helmet, and various other issues arose. It was one reason why Lucky preferred to not use the foldable stock. Sure the recoil was hell, but he could keep the blaster at a fair distance and get off more rounds.

Under his helmet, his vision changed from clear to red, as the tint of the lenses was designed to minimize glare from sunlight, explosions, and other exceptionally bright light sources. A soft, orange ring darted around, linked up directly to his blaster, allowing him to see roughly where he was aiming even when his blaster rifle was at his hip.

It was experimental, and sometimes a good shock wave could malfunction the sensors, but they were still told to use it during exercises. To be frank, Lucky was more likely to turn it off in an actual fight. Relying on that kind of tech that could be easily distorted was a good way to miss your shots. For each shot you miss, that's one more the Resistance can send at you or your buddies. Besides, it wasn't terribly difficult to simply aim down the sight of the rifle, even with the helmet. Once again, the tradeoff between using the stock and not using it was clear to him. He could easily maneuver the rifle around his face without that piece of plasteel smacking him in the jaw.

He was probably making it out to be a lot worse than it was. Since the day they'd arrived on this base they'd learned to treat their armor like a second skin, and moving around in it was a lot easier now than it had been six years ago. Duce seemed perfectly comfortable with the folding stock pressed against his shoulder pad, and he hit just as many targets and Lucky did. Duce had taken to using blasters a lot quicker than any of his little friend group. Though it wasn't hard to see that Book was the worst. He wasn't _bad_ per say, but he was definitely just average, barely making it above the cut for accuracy. He tried, but he just wasn't all in the game. Frosty, or 1460 as he preferred, was quick to remind him that he had a duty to get better.

In his own way, Frosty wanted to see Book succeed just as much as the rest of them. He wasn't a bad guy, Lucky reasoned. He wanted to be the 'ideal' Stormtrooper. In a lot of ways he was. He was loyal, unflinching, and very much capable of the stone cold actions that were expected of them. Yet, at the same time, Book, Duce and Lucky were just as loyal to the First Order. The Stormtrooper corps was their family. As much as they may, or may not, have wished they'd grown up a normal life, every trooper viewed their brothers and sisters as exactly that: siblings. So despite his cold demeanor, Lucky still considered Frosty one of his good friends.

A sudden high chirping sounded through the range, followed immediately by a considerable stream of red bolts of pressurized gas. Lucky suppressed a grin, despite the fact that it would have been invisible beneath his helmet. That would be RE-1491, or as he and his friends called him, 'Dive.' Lucky peeked around the corner of his blast shield, relieved to see he wasn't the only trooper captured by the sudden burst of heavy blaster fire.

Dive, named for his tendency to 'dive headfirst' into danger, was one of RE Corps heavy assault troopers. His short, stocky build made him a good combination for the powerful weapon. Low center of mass, and small target for the enemy, coupled with his near suicidal fearlessness made him a damn dangerous man with the FWMB. Still, you weren't supposed to expend your entire magazine at the range in such short time, and an officer proceeded to instantly chew Dive out, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of the repeater.

A bell rang out, signaling that their time at the range was done, and that it was time for another group to take over. Their designations did more than simply give them names, they also denoted battalion and team. The RE-00s through RE-12s worked together, forming 1st Battalion, the RE-13s through RE-15s as 2nd Battalion, and RE-16s through RE-18s formed 3rd Battalion. The only exception to this rule was RE-19, who formed the scout and reconnaissance. They didn't work with any other companies. Every group shared the range with each other, which allowed them to bond close together. This mean that, in battle, they'd work more closely together. Their locker rooms were assigned exactly the same because of that. RE-1300 – RE-1599 shared one locker room, three hundred men.

True to their schedule, they'd be off to the rec-room next. Lucky discharged the magazine from the blaster, dumped it into the chute where it would be refilled, and set the rifle down on the counter. He turned and exited the booth, removing his helmet as soon as they were in the locker room.

The First Order was pretty strict about helmet protocol for Stormtroopers, but as long as they were in the rec room, lounges or locker rooms they did not need permission from a superior officer to remove them. This wing of the _Regulator_ was practically designed for casual living. Despite its strict code, even the Order realized that Stormtroopers were still people, and sometimes people just need to unwind.

They entered the locker room and Lucky began stripping off the plasteel armor, stuffing it into their correct locations within his locket, marked in pitch black letters _RE-1313._ Someone slapped him across the back and he turned, snorting as he recognized his friend RE-1511. "What's up Leven?" he asked.

Leven removed his helmet to reveal an enthusiastic grin, his round face nearly splitting with excitement. "Got an S on my accuracy marks, so their considering giving me one of scout rifles!" he chirped. Leven packed a megaton of energy in every inch of his tall frame, standing at 6'2. Lucky didn't mind, but some people found him a little too up beat. Frosty avoided him when he could, and barely tolerated his presence when he couldn't. Of course, Leven and Duce has bonded like long lost birth siblings, despite looking nothing alike. Where Duce had golden blonde hair and a fair complexion, Leven had wiry black hair and chestnut colored skin, with two great big green orbs staring out from beneath his highbrow. He was enthusiastic about almost anything, from blasters, to the war, to getting his armor polished. You couldn't bring the man down.

It was for that reason that no one could decide on a nickname for him. There were just too many good ones, but oddly enough he'd shot down them all. He liked Leven, a shortened version of eleven, mostly because he said it was simple. If there was one thing that mattered most to Leven, it was simplicity.

"That's fantastic, Lev. Think you'll be moving into scout and recon?" Lucky asked, peeling off his breastplate and storing it sideways.

This time, he simply shrugged, "Dunno man," he said, turning his back to Lucky as he faced his own locker and began taking off his own armor, storing his helmet in the top shelf designated for it. "I mean it'd be awesome, but I don't think I've got the agility or stamina marks for that. I'm probably just going to get the extra multiplier on my scope, maybe a full magnetic stock," he paused, tilting his head upwards, sounding like he very much approved of that idea. Magnetic stocks, as they sound, would stick to the shoulder plate and allowed for a lot less error when aiming. It wasn't strong enough that it caused you to stick to your weapon, but it was enough that the rifle wouldn't slide around the sleek plasteel. They were common on the F-11S scout rifle, which was really a standard F-11D but with a full stock, better grip, sights and an extra 100 meter range. It was designed to play off the already superb accuracy of a regular Stormtrooper.

"Still," Lucky began, "Any edge you can get, right?"

Leven chuckled, "Hell yeah, my man," he answered.

Lucky removed the last piece of his armor and slid off the skin tight shirt that they wore, replacing it with a white t shirt, the black emblem of the First Order proudly emblazoned over his heart. He gave Leven a goodbye, confident that the man would be in the lounge later, and made his way out of the locker rooms, squeezing his body between the numerous other Stormtroopers, eagerly tearing off their armor to get into their lounge clothes.

They only got an hour in the lounge before they had their evening combat drills. After that, they could finally eat, and then they were done for the day.

The doors smoothly slid open as he approached the lounge doors, revealing the Stormtroopers little slice of heaven. The lounge wasn't much, but the First Order did its best to make sure the grunts were comfortable. Numerous couches and comfort seating lined the walls, and a few pazaak tables and dejarik boards organized in rows. A few off duty troopers were already settling in, turning on the dejarik boards and looking to win whatever it was they could place bets on.

They didn't get paid for their military service. They were given everything they needed free, so gambling with their wages was impossible. Usually the bets were more intense. Who would be the first through a breach could be decided on a hand of pazaak, and volunteers for point were often the losers of a game of dejarik. For a Stormtrooper, the military was everything they'd ever known, so to them these bets were rather cheap and easy to make. Not every game involved gambling, though. Sometimes soldiers just wanted to unwind with a friendly game.

On the left side of the lounge was the sports room, where a couple troopers were already showing off their skills at Hoops, a game that was played by dribbling a ball down the field then resolved by tossing the ball through the hoop at the end of the court. It didn't require much space, so it was easy to stuff four different courts in the corner.

Lucky made his way over to his usual seating, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, before kicking back, letting his feet rest up on the ottoman and closing his eyes. He took a sip from the water as he relaxed, letting the kinks in his arms unwind from the repeated blaster fire. He ran a hand over his short black hair. It was by no means a buzz cut, but it was definitely on the short end. A lot of troopers liked to keep their hair as close to regulation as possible, some of them opting for shaving the sides and leaving more on top as an extra cushion for their helmet. Lucky never really minded the helmets inner padding, and besides that he hated having his hair grow. It was much too thick for his tastes.

"Thirteen," a voice sounded, dull and bored, but friendly. Lucky didn't bother opening his eyes, there were very few people who addressed him by his number, but offered a small smile. "Hey there, Frosty," he said. He could feel the man bristle beside him, but he didn't respond. It may have been mean, but most of the guys knew he hated that name yet kept using it. Maybe they were just trying to get him to come out of his shell at first, but now it had settled in to a regular name. 1460 surely wished it hadn't.

The fact that he didn't respond to the obvious prodding made Lucky curious. He opened one eye and looked at his red headed friend. Frosty was bothered by something, it was easy to see. "What's up, sixty?" he asked, trying to be more polite. The red headed man seemed to be lost in thought for a moment as Lucky studied his features.

Frosty had continued with the dream of becoming the ideal Stormtrooper. He did look the part, in a lot of ways. Strict regulation hair, short on the sides and just a little longer on the top, perfectly clean shaven, and unwavering stare. Frosty had also bulked up, as the lot of them had, and he imagined that the man wouldn't even need his armor to look intimidating. After a few seconds 1460 shrugged, "Nothing. Pazaak?"

Lucky knew if there was something bothering his friend that prying was only going to force him to retreat, so he smirked, gave a nod of agreement and launched himself off the couch.

"If it isn't my two favorite troopers!"

Lucky grinned as Duce, Leven and Dive emerged from the hallway into the lounge. The five of them sat down around the Pazaak table. Dive was easily the shortest Stormtrooper he'd ever seen, and his facial features only served to accent that. Standing at 5'7, the man still sported a little baby fat, his fair skinned face round and soft. He kept his dark brown hair buzzed close to his head and his even darker eyes were small, set underneath a low brow.

They were soon joined by Book, who grudgingly set down his manual on automatic cylinder feeds and joined in. Book's features had dramatically changed over the last few years. Gone was the baby faced individual, replaced by a rather attractive looking man.

His hair was slightly receding at the corners of his forehead, and he was already starting to sport a shadow of a beard on his face, which he would have to shave before drills. His grey eyes were framed by large eyebrows. Due to his balding, he tried to keep his hair as long as regulation allowed it. Two things about the man had not changed. His attitude towards learning, and his shyness.

Duce dealt out the hands and they got down to business. They weren't placing bets this time, instead they were playing by 'Senate Rules' where there was no risk and nothing got done. Despite most of their last six years in service had been devoted to physical strength and tactical knowledge, their education had still been a focus. Lectures once every seven days on the current standing of the Order, as well as news on what the Resistance had been up to. That was a critical part of their lives. Hearing about different attacks staged by the terrorists, the damage they did, fueled their anger.

"You know I heard a rumor that we're going to be doing a parade planetside," Duce suddenly brought up.

 _That_ got everyone's attention real quick.

"Bullshit," Duce was quick to dismiss, earning a resounding, but silent, nod of agreement from Frosty. Book did not look convinced, but still remained hopeful.

Lucky chuckled, "I gotta agree with Duce, man. There's no way we're going planetside."

Dive snorted, "Oh come on, when have I ever lead you astray?" he said with a cocky smirk.

Dive had a fair point. It was miraculous, but Dive had managed to gather some good knowledge on the inner workings. He was often assigned guard duty as a result of his poor discipline and big mouth, which often meant he was stationed on graveyard shifts. This gave him unique opportunities to overhear officers discussing plans.

There were two kinds of officers in the Order. The kind who viewed Stormtroopers as robots and fodder, and the kind who viewed them as professional soldiers. While every Stormtrooper greatly appreciated the latter opinion, members of the former where often the easiest to eavesdrop. They'd talk openly in front of guard posts at the end of meetings. Not classified information, but little things that a skilled ear—and poorly disciplined soldier—could pick up. What was going to be served for dinner, what types of combat drills they'd be running, and apparently that they might be heading planetside.

"Alright, I'll bite," Duce announced, drawing a card from the deck. "Why?"

Dive kept up his cocky appearance, "Parade," he said simply. They all looked at him with furrowed brows, asking him to elaborate. He played a card of his own down on the table before continuing.

"You guys remember that bomb that went off in the capital square on Cerea?"

Cerea was a planet close to what the Republic called 'The Unknown Regions' which the First Order controlled. As Cerea was not a member of the Republic, nor the First Order, it was a serious political battleground for influence. The First Order wanted to use Cerea as a base point, and the Resistance was keen on stopping that. Generally this meant propaganda, sending funds to bribe ministers in favor of neutrality but rarely violence. Apparently, however, that was changing. A new Resistance commander known as Ajon had turned the aims of the Resistance cell into overt attempts to stop Order influence.

Assaulting known Order supporters and forcing neutrality down the Cereans throats worked for a time, but only worked on the regular citizenry. The government, seeing the Resistance not only as an enemy of the First Order, but as an enemy of the Cerean government, authorized the First Order to station a small attachment of soldiers in the capital. It was only one thousand men, and they were mostly there for added security. Of course, this only continued the cycle.

Two Galactic Standard weeks ago, Ajon and his Resistance cell detonated a bomb that killed fifteen Stormtroopers, along with nearly fifty civilians. The Resistance, and the Republic, both condemned the attack, with the Resistance officially denouncing the man. It did not seem to deter him, or his soldiers. In fact, there was a rash of new attacks against both Order and Local forces. Ajon had been unchained with the Resistance's denouncement, now fear and panic were plenty on the peaceful garden world.

"Well, like I said, rumor has it that's our destination. We're going to parade around Tecave city, let the people there know that the First Order has their backs," Dive said finally, before cursing as he went over twenty, throwing his cards angrily on the table.

Lucky looked at Duce who shrugged. It seemed likely. Man what an exciting prospect, to finally step onto a planet after being stuck on a ship for six years. Lucky hadn't felt so sick of shipborn life in a long time, and the idea of real fresh air and birds and grass only made him hope that Dive was right.

"You better be right about this, Dive, I don't want to get my hopes up only to find out we won't see a planet until we invade the Republic," Leven said, half joking and half serious. Book nodded, uttering a soft mutter of agreement, as he drew a card. Book smiled, laying his hand out to show that he had hit 20, and thus the winner.

They reshuffled the deck and dealt them out again. "Still," Lucky said, picking up the conversation. "What exactly does that entail? Being on parade?"

Dive shrugged, not really bothered with deciphering his intelligence, just distributing it. Duce spoke up after that, "Well I imagine that they'll just march us through the capital, show us off to the people and anyone who thinks of standing in our way," he suggested.

Book nodded at that. "It's likely this is the final step in bringing Cerea into the First Order. Ajon really played his cards wrong," he finished thoughtfully. That statement opened up a whole other can of worms.

"You guys really think that Ajon was kicked out of the Resistance? His actions aren't exactly standard Resistance MO," he said. That was true. Civilian casualties weren't exactly uncommon in the Resistances war against them, but the Resistance stuck to purely military targets, and the civilian casualties were more often wrong place wrong time scenarios. The bomb on Cerea, however, was detonated _outside_ a military post during a pro Order rally. The civilians may not have been deliberately targeted, but their wellbeing was completely disregarded.

"Who cares?" Frosty spoke up for the first time, a little more malice than necessary in his voice. "Ajon is a terrorist, one of the many reasons that the Galaxy needs to submit to order," he said. It was a cookie cutter answer, and while they all agreed, it was not satisfactory.

"Yeah, but, it makes you wonder if he's really rogue. He could be even more dangerous if that's true," Lucky pointed out. Frosty decided to shrug at that.

"That's possible. It's still irrelevant. The man is an enemy of ours, and he's killed our brothers. Who he serves is of little concern."

That was something no one would disagree with. It might seem weird to an outsider, but even though none of them had ever met the Stormtroopers killed in the blast, they all felt it in their hearts. There was a bond that transcended logic between the fighting men and women of the First Order. Every Stormtrooper was in the same boat, and an attack on one was an attack on all.

They continued playing in relative silence for a few minutes before a new person joined them, plopping down in one of the chairs with an exhausted sigh, bruises covering his body. They paid no mind to them, but Lucky gave the new comer a smile. "Done already, Trip?"

Trip, or RE-1333, got his name from a shortened version of triple. Again, Book's smarts came in handy with this one. The number three appears three times, so triple was just a common sense deduction for him. Trip was the only person Lucky was really close to who excelled in the Riot control element of their profession. While every one of them was trained for melee combat, only a select few actually carried their Z6 batons into combat. Trip was one of those people. He usually came to the lounge late, dedicated a half an hour of his break time to fighting other members of the Riot Group in their arena.

The man simply nodded, offering a soft smile. Trip was a nice guy, probably the least prone to violent outbursts. It was ironic that he was the best fighter, but many people noticed that his skill in fighting came from excellent parries and counter strikes, not so much outright lashing out, as many of the Stormtroopers were prone to doing. His reddish brown skin was still wet from his shower, and his black hair was an ever tangled mess sitting atop his head. He was quieter than Book was, though his was more out of a desire to just enjoy peace and quiet. He wasn't afraid or timid of social interaction, he just preferred to stay out of it. A true introvert.

Because of this, whenever Book needed to take a break from people, he could often be found in the company of Trip. The two were perfect together. Book didn't want anyone to talk to him and Trip never really felt like talking.

The rest of the game continued with relative mundane conversation. There wasn't a whole lot to talk about as a Stormtrooper. Your accuracy marks, who you thought was going to be the first person to get a kill and why, how much longer were they going to have to wait for war, _what_ were they waiting for? Before they knew it, the alarm rang.

Time to suit up and head to the simulation chamber.

The combat enhancement simulation room was a large part of the rear of the ship, located near the bottom, just below engineering. The room was large enough to simulate a portion of a battlefield around 200 meters long. It took up an impressive amount of ship space, but its location made sure it did not impact the vessel negatively. The three hundred men of 2nd Battalion stood at attention, ready to complete the exercise laid out before them.

Standing before them was their commanding officer, Colonel Derson. Derson was formerly RE-1597 before being designated for officer candidacy. The Entire 2nd Regiment of the RE Corps was under his command, all one thousand men. He stood before them, his red shoulder guard noting his rank as a Regimental commander. The First Order used a simple color coding for officers of various levels. Regimental commanders wore red shoulder pads, which made Derson one of 10 people in RE Corps to carry one. Captains, who commanded battalions, wore blue pads, and their Lieutenants wore orange for company commander. Each company was one hundred soldiers, and there were three to each battalion, whose commander was the person in charge of RE-1300, 1400 and 1500, thus they had authority over 300 soldiers.

The men of 2nd battalion formed up behind their commanders, in lines of five men across, with the officer standing as the first man on the left. Their battalion commander, RE-1306, marched forward and saluted Derson. "2nd battalion ready for simulation!" he barked.

Derson's helmet was off, cupped in his hands below his left arm pit, revealing his aged, dark skin. Lines framed his mouth and covered his forehead, and it was easy to see he was older than the men before him. He has a soft scar trailing from his cheek bone to his jaw at a 40 degree angle, most likely from a shrapnel wound. He scanned the crown as cleared his throat.

"We're going to be working urban environment again," he announced, much to their dismay. They didn't show it, of course, and Lucky was sure to keep his face stoic beneath his helmet, as if Derson could somehow sense if he scowled. "I was not satisfied with the scores from last run. Your clear speeds were awful, and you took over half your numbers as casualties," he barked. Standing straight, he continued. "RE-1529, you and your men in 3rd company will be the defenders in this simulation," he announced. The member of 3rd company with the orange shoulder pad saluted before marching his men off to the other end of the simulation room. Lucky watched out of the corner of his eye as they moved, spotting Leven due to his slight increase in height over everyone else.

"RE-1327, RE-1492, you two will lead 1st and 2nd companies to assault the enemy position," he ordered. He turned to the window that overlooked the simulation room and nodded. There was a faint glow as the floors molded and morphed, suddenly showing Lucky the front of what looked like a bombed out building. The night sky was clear, and you could see faint lush plains in the distance. He wasn't sure what planet this was supposed to be simulating, but he sure liked the visuals. Except, of course, for the destroyed building 100 meters in front of them.

"This drill will teach two things. First, how to defend a position against a numerically superior assault. Second, how to assault a well dug in position in an urban environment. The goal for the attackers is no more than 40% casualties. I want this building taken in fifteen minutes tops!"

Lucky knew the drill, they'd run it numerous times before. The defenders had it easy in a way, as there wasn't really any expectation for them to succeed. In fact the drill almost seemed to prepare them to die instead of retreat. He'd been the defender in the last drill, personally taking out seven people before one of the concussive blasts knocked him out. They held out for twenty minutes and thirty two seconds, and killed 63% of the attacking force, which was more than acceptable.

If Stormtroopers were going to lose a fight, they were supposed to take as many of the enemy with them as they could.

He could hear the Stormtroopers that he would fight take moving around inside the building. The drill would start when their company commander gave the signal that they were prepared. After all, this was to simulate assaulting a well dug in position. The last bastion of resistance to occupation.

Colonel Derson, and the rest of the troopers, watched as a small flare was fired through the top of the structure. The drill would begin.

The troopers approached the building, hugging the walls and cover of the other simulated structures. Sound effects were added into the mix at this point. Lucky could hear TIE fighters soaring through the sky, sounds of artillery and blaster fire echoed in the distance. Fire's burned, crackling around him.

"RE-1313, take 10 through 20 around to the eastern side of the building," a command rang out in his comms. He nodded, "Sir," and turned to the men around him, giving them a swift nod of encouragement before sprinting through the rubble of a burned out building. The ten of them hunkered down behind a husk of a wall, charred corpses placed buried beneath the rubble.

"1313 in position," he said into his mic.

Lucky received the acknowledgement and then saw the smoke grenades being tossed at the foot of the building, hoping to obscure the advance of the soldiers. They did not have that benefit, as none of the men he was with carried smoke. He made sure to check his weapons as he watched the main group advance on the building.

The high velocity chirping of a repeater rang through the air, and he could hear a few yelps of pain as some men were hit and taken out of action. "Let's go!" Lucky barked, popping above his cover and laying down a rapid volley of blaster fire. He squeezed his trigger and sent a bolt through the windows that they faced, as did a few others, while the rest of his little fire team advanced towards the wall of the structure. He could see a few of the enemy troopers in the windows returning similar blind fire, and one of the men to his left got hit square in the chest by a bolt, knocking him out. The friendly troopers were outlined in blue through his lenses, while all the hostile ones had yellow outlines. Under his helmet, he could easily distinguish between friend and foe, despite them wearing the same armor.

Lucky cursed, trying to tune out the commands coming over the comms that did not specifically address him. The five men who ran ahead had made it to the walls of the building, leaving him and his remaining three men to make the charge across the street.

"Detonators!" he called in his comms and the men he had along the wall each pulled out a thermal detonator and lobbed them through the windows where they could see blaster fire exiting. As soon as they were in, Lucky took off running.

Smoke and dust blew out of the windows as he sprinted towards the wall, not slowing down as he braced his shoulder hard against the wall. There was a door with three short steps leading from the ground in front of them; that was their way in. With the majority of 1st company assaulting the front, they were the flanking force. They'd be the first men inside the building, trying to take pressure off the frontal assault.

He slowly maneuvered himself to the front of the line, peeking around the corner. He pulled his head back just in time as a jet of orange gas passed by his face. He blindly aimed his blaster down the hall, squeezing the trigger a few times as two of his men maneuvered to the other side of the door, dodging the return fire.

One of them crouched to a knee, poking his head around the corner and fired a few times. "Target down! Go!" he shouted.

Lucky burst from his position, jumping off the first step and skipping the last two. He was inside, but now the real decision had to be made. He needed cover, and he only had a fraction of time to find it. He settled for a door frame to his right, crossing through blaster fire and ducking inside the room. One of his troopers had followed him in, and they did a quick scan of the small room, which looked like it may have been an office at one point.

The other trooper ran ahead to the second doorway and began firing down it, ducking as a few orange bolts were sent his way. "RE-1313 is inside the east wing," he advised his commanding officer.

"Upstairs from your position is a heavy gunner. We need him taken down if we're going to get any closer to the front of the building!" his commander barked through the comms.

He acknowledged the new order and looked, satisfied to see that all his men had made it inside and were now trading blaster fire down the narrow hallway. He pulled out a thermal detonator and placed himself on the edge of the door frame before tossing it backwards around the corner. It rolled down the hall before detonating. He could hear a scream as someone got caught in the blast, too busy focusing on the Stormtroopers to notice the small ball of explosives.

As soon as the explosion sounded, all the troopers were out of their cover and moving down the hallway. It was only wide enough for two men abreast, so they kept it single file, forming a zig zag pattern to make sure they all had room to maneuver. Lucky was in front, leading the charge. An enemy trooper popped his head out and sent a bolt their way. It soared over Lucky's shoulder but smashed into the man behind him, hitting him in the face. Lucky dropped to a knee and fired back, hitting the enemy in the gut and taking him down. He was down to eight men, but they'd reached the staircase.

Two of his men covered the door to the other hallway, ensuring that none of the defenders could double back and make life difficult for them. That left six of them to clear the room upstairs. He could easily hear the rapid blaster fire of the heavy repeater.

"1313, be acknowledge that 1460 and a team of seven have entered the west wing."

Lucky smirked at that, proud of the fact that he'd managed to beat Frosty into the building by a minute, but also glad to have some back up. Now the defending reserves would be split between him and Frosty, not just all coming for him.

Lucky pointed two fingers at two of his men, then knife handed at the door, ordering them forward. Lucky had been appointed team leader, and they quickly obeyed his command. They rushed up the stairs, past Lucky who briefly raised his blaster away from their heads before levelling it back at the opening.

His two men stacked up then peeked around the corner. Immediately, one of them sunk to his knees as he was hit in the shoulder with a blast, but he was still conscious. He cursed, and Lucky realized that he must have only been hit with a pistol, which meant one thing.

The Riot group was defending their repeater team. "Command, acknowledge that the enemy repeater is guarded by riot troopers," he said before moving to take the place of the wounded man.

His call wasn't an excuse to delay or get backup, but more of a green light for the rest of the team to not have to worry about facing any riot troopers in close combat. That was now their job. Lucky gave a quick peek around the corner and could see them at the corner, their shields raised and pistols poking around the edges. Two bolts came his way but missed, smashing into the walls. He looked at the other trooper and nodded, before they both blindly fired their rifles around the corner. A few of them bounced back, hitting off the magnetized barriers of the shield, but it still made the soldiers on the other end flinch. The four other men in his team sprinted through the door, trying to get to the other side of the hallway. One of them took a bolt to the side, spinning him and forcing him to the ground, unconscious against the wall.

Lucky's wounded soldier tapped his shoulder pad, "Go on sir, I'll cover," he said, clearly in pain. The concussive blasts were supposed to simply knock a person out, but they could do some mild damage to the flesh and bone. Their armor absorbed most of the impact, but he had probably busted his shoulder real bad.

Lucky nodded at him, recognizing his voice as 1318. "Got it eighteen," he said, before firing another few shots and then rushing across the small hall, past his 'dead' comrade. Bolts flew by him but he remained unscathed, thanks to the effort from 18 and the other trooper, who he thought was 20. They were now on both sides of the hall, and the Riot troopers would soon disregard their blasters and begin closing for melee combat.

The room they were in only had one door to the hall, but there was another on the wall which lead to an adjacent room. If they could breach and clear it, they'd have a direct line on the room with the repeater.

He looked to his left and pointed at one of his men. "10, get up there and clear the hall. Use a detonator if you can," he said. The trooper nodded and moved forward to the door and lifted his leg to boot in down when it shot off its hinges, knocking him back in an explosion. Through it emerged two riot troopers. The remaining four turned their blasters on the troopers but they closed ranks quickly. The first riot trooper bashed his shield against one of his men, knocking him back, and swung his baton, clipping the other soldier in the head and knocking him senseless.

The baton armed man charged Lucky and the man to his right, 1316. 16 tried to shoot his hulking form, but the bolt hit his shield. He jabbed out with the baton and caught 16 straight in the stomach, knocking him down. Lucky took a step back, trying to fire at his tenacious attacker, but the man swung his baton at him, forcing him to duck and knocking his aim off.

The riot trooper dropped his shoulder and slammed into him with the shield, pressing him into the wall, before preparing to strike with the baton. Textbook move: pin the target, deliver a blow to their head to render them unconscious. Lucky was spared, though, when the riot trooper recoiled from a blaster bolt directly in his back. 16 hadn't been so easily dispatched, and had managed to get a shot off before slowly slipping away.

He owed him one.

The riot trooper sank to his knees and then to his side, hitting the floor with a thunk. Lucky turned to his right in time to dodge another swing from the riot baton of the other trooper. Lucky fell to his back to gain some distance and fired two bolts, hitting his attacker in the chest both times, knocking him off his feet. He looked around, realizing there were only two of him in the room now, him and 19. They moved into the adjacent room and peeked through the door.

He nodded at 19 who primed his detonator and tossed it into the room. They heard a cry of grenade before it exploded and the repeater was silenced.

"1313, repeater is down along with riot," he communicated on all channels.

"Roger, we've already got teams pushing into the front of the building now," came the response from his commander.

Lucky's primary role was complete, and now it was time to rejoin the rest of 1st company. With the loss of one of 3rd company's repeaters and their riot group, pushing into the building wasn't hard from there on. The Drill lasted another 8 minutes, and by the time they had finished they'd managed to get away with only 35% casualties. Impressive, considering that it was nearly half the losses they had last time.

After all the troopers who'd been killed had been revived and the simulation room returned to its normal, blank state, they were gathered in the briefing room. They'd been allowed to remove their helmets, which sat neatly in their laps. Derson stood at the front, his helmet resting on the podium.

"Impressive demonstration from all of you. Total time of eleven minutes and twenty two seconds, with only 35% attacking casualties. 1st Battalion completed the drill in a shorter time, nine minutes and forty one seconds, but with 42% casualties." He looked up from his clipboard to face the men of 2nd Battalion. A few of them may have been disappointed in losing out on time to 1st Battalion, but Lucky knew that less casualties meant a lot. The First Order relied a limited manpower reserve, and they needed every man to survive a mission that they could.

"RE-1313," Derson said, "You displayed above average command tendencies, but got half your fire team killed and another member wounded. Work on your positions better in the next drill," he said. It was mild criticism, but it still stung. They faced well more than their fair share of odds, considering who they went up against. Derson quickly moved on,

"RE-1460, your combat efficiency was compromised by the careless frontal assault on the west side. While you also took 50% casualties in your fire team, you took them all prior to entering the building."

Ouch. Lucky tried looking out of the corner of his eye for Frosty, but he couldn't see him through all the faces in the crown. He could see it, though. Frosty was _very_ efficient, but he was too much of a mass assault person. Lucky could very easily imagine all ten of his men rushing the door, five of them being cut down, before entering.

Derson continued administering backhanded praises and criticisms for the next twenty minutes, before discussing what exactly was expected from the defenders.

"RE-1530, you and RE-1531 attempted to handle an encroaching fireteam with brutal effectiveness. You each personally managed to kill three of your five attackers, before being taken out. RE-1532, your failure to assist in this by deciding to stay back and cover the repeater ended up costing your comrades, and the repeater. I expect full participation from you next time." He said menacingly. He then looked at, what Lucky figured, was the last members of 5th companies riot team. "All in all, the riot group provided adequate protection to the repeater, all things considered."

He moved on to praise the members of the repeater for accumulating twenty nine kills. For just one repeater that was a pretty heavy amount. The gunner, RE-1568, was congratulated with quiet mutters of approval and pats on the back before a sharp glance from Derson restored discipline.

The meeting was soon adjourned, and the troopers were allowed to head to dinner. Changing back out of their armor into their tights and lounge shirts before heading to the mess hall. The seven of them sat down around the same circular metal table, chatting away about their own performances in the drill.

"Man you should have seen Dive," Trip said with a big grin. Trip and Dive had been involved in the frontal assault, providing cover fire for a large portion of the soldiers. While they were split up into battalions, soldiers from different companies generally worked very close together, regardless of their designations. Command usually encouraged this. They knew who worked well with who, and generally tried to assign tasks to groups of people. Their names didn't really matter. If 1565, 1341 and 1429 worked well together, they'd likely find themselves on a fire team.

"We were having trouble approaching the center where this big hole in the wall was. We were going to try to break through it, but they had way too many men there. We were pinned down, and they wanted him to lay down some fire," he said, trying to give his friends a visual of the field.

Dive was trying to suppress a grin as he stuffed his face with processed protein packs as Trip continued the story. "But instead, he takes his grenades and throws them straight at the hole before standing and sprinting forward, blazing his repeater from the hip." Trip attempted to pantomime the action of firing a repeater from the hip as he continued, "and I've never seen so many bolts miss a single person."

Dive picked it up from there, "Well it's not like I had that far to run. I was just advancing to the next piece of cover," he said nonchalantly. Trip rolled his eyes, "Yeah, a twenty meter dash through a hail of blaster bolts," he said mockingly.

"'Nother day at the office," Duce chimed in, causing all the soldiers to start laughing around the table.

Duce picked up, switching the topic from Dive's antics to Books always surprising battlefield cunning. "Still, Book you never cease to amaze me, man. This guy takes on of those satchel charges, right? Throws it in the middle of the field by this burned out building. It blows up and collapses this huge pillar, right in front of the target. Four meters tall, easy cover, and we were able to set up our own repeater because of that."

Book shrugged, "I mean it was just simple angles," he said, downplaying his role. "I knew that the pillar would fall if it was hit with enough power, and that once down it would be able to give us a little cover."

"A little?" Duce asked, stunned. He turned to Lucky. "We packed five guys and a repeater behind that pillar. Closed the gap to the target by at least ten meters," he explained.

Lucky noticed that, despite their jovial attitude, Frosty had remained quite silent, staring in contempt at his food, and slowly placing the vegetables into his mouth. The comments by Colonel Derson must have hit harder than he thought. Now that Lucky thought about it, this wasn't the first time a fire team lead by their red headed comrade had gotten mixed reviews. Frosty threw soldiers at an objective, but he did it with enough efficiency that it wasn't overtly criticized.

Maybe that's what was bothering him earlier? Perhaps the man was looking for a way to minimize casualties. Lucky had never even considered that Frosty may have wanted to talk tactics earlier that day. He'd be sure to let him know that he was available for that any time after their meal. As Lucky looked around the table at the rest of his brothers in arms, laughing and joking about the combat drill, there was a nagging thought that they'd be in the thick of things soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Our Songs, Our Family

Chapter 3

 _On Parade_

 **Disclaimer: I don't own star wars**

 **AN: I want to thank everyone who reads this since it has taken me ages to get motivated to write this story again, but I'm back and I plan to continue it all the way**

As usual, Dive was right. As the entirety of the RE Corps gathered in the main hangar, the only room large enough to fit all of them at once. On a large stage before them stood the fleet admiral, ship captains and the commander of the RE Corps, Major General Duforin. They made it clear that they were heading to be stationed on Cerea.

"Additionally, you will be expected to make a show of power, order and greatness in the capital," Duforin said, his voice grave and baritone. His cold grey eyes raked the crowd of Stormtroopers, all standing in full battle gear. "This means that your lounge periods have been restricted through the next two weeks as we travel to Cerea. You will learn marching order and the parade path, additionally new classes are mandatory to understand the Cerean people and the basics of their alien ways."

There was a ripple of silent tension at the prospect of their lounge time being stripped, but they did not waver or dare utter protest. There'd be plenty of time for that tonight in their bunks. Lucky was particularly disappointed in this, especially the fact that his time relaxing and playing Pazaak was to be cut down in order to learn about aliens and what they deemed acceptable.

The First Order was really trying to get these people on their side if they were training Stormtroopers in cultural etiquette.

"You are dismissed. I expect you all to be perfectly prepared for our arrival on Cerea," he said, turning swiftly which caused his dark grey trench coat to flutter behind him like a rippling wave. He descended the steps, folding the front edges of his coat over his officer's uniform and leaving the hangar with the admiral and various other ship captains. As soon as the brass had left the hangar, the Stormtroopers turned and marched out of the hangar in order, their company commanders leading them.

As they left the hangar they gradually returned to a more relaxed position, heading to their lockers. It was only 12, so they had physical training soon and needed to get back on schedule. Even though it was their fault for dragging them away from their tasks, the officers in charge would not tolerate tardiness.

"Fuck this," an angry voice echoed the thoughts of everyone as they peeled off their plasteel armor. A few heads turned to see Dive slamming his armor into his locker. Lucky imagined that for once Dive hoped he was wrong.

"Relax, Dive, it's only for two weeks," a Stormtrooper who Lucky didn't know too well, RE-1449, said. The man seemed rather relaxed and nonchalant about the whole thing, which seemed odd. Maybe he was just like that.

"Easy for you to say, Four-Nine, you don't even use the lounge," Dive scoffed.

Lucky ignored Dive and his bickering with fellow members of 2nd company. He didn't have time to be distracted. Unsurprisingly, however, the arguments continued in the weight room.

You can gather a lot of information about a Stormtrooper's day by the way they exercise. By nature, growing up in Order Academies, they aren't the kind of people to verbally express their feelings. So action was the best outlet for anger, something that was generally encouraged by their superiors. Aggressive frontline soldiers were effective, after all.

The weight room was full of needless clanging and bashing of weights on racks and the floor, and a greater number than usual were at the punching bags, smashing their fists raw. The Cereans were going to be in for a real treat.

"Tell you what," Duce said as Lucky lifted the weights above his chest, then lowered them down. Duce was spotting him, making sure he didn't drop the bar on his neck. "I at least hope they let us crack some Resistance skulls while planet side," he said, a hint of raw malice in his voice. Even Duce was feeling the pressure.

Lucky racked the weight after a final set before sitting up, wiping his brow. "Doubtful. 10,000 Stormtroopers hitting the ground? If I were Ajon I'd be keeping my head low. It's his own fault Cerea is calling for Order assistance."

Duce shrugged as he took his turn on the weights. Lucky wasn't disagreeing with him. He wanted nothing more than to make the Resistance pay. It was what they'd been training for all these days, what some of them considered they were born to do. In reality, they kind of were. Lucky looked around the gym at the different men and women walking around, black pants and white shirts with the First Order emblem boldly and proudly standing out. He imagined they were all thinking the same thing.

The marching was a lot different than combat order. It was supposed to look pretty, not actually be effective. The Flametroopers made up the front row, kicking off the parade with their torches proudly displayed before the group, just so everyone knew they were there. They were immediately followed by the riot troopers, their shields held out before their chests and batons ready. Behind them came the run of the mill Stormtroopers. Lucky was fortunate enough to get a position right behind Trip. He wasn't sure why, maybe the order was randomly generated. It didn't really seem to be numerical. Perhaps it was skill? Lucky didn't want to inflate his ego, but he would consider himself to be one of the best troopers all around in his company, possibly the battalion. Then, in the very back were the heavy assault troopers, their heavy repeaters balanced in one hand over their left shoulder.

Each block of soldiers was organized first by regiment, then in order of battalion, so Lucky's block would be sixth in the proceedings. They practiced marching around the hangar, Colonel Duforin barking orders and insults at people who fell in misstep. "1389, did you not learn your right from you left?" "1427, do I need to have you reassigned to janitorial service? Think you can manage that much?" "1517, keep that shield at _collar_ height!"

Lucky had never had much interaction with the colonel. He'd seen him only at official occasions. When they first boarded the _Regulator_ , a few months later during a visit by General Hux to the fleet, and a couple of years after that during a naval exercise between his fleet and another one in a nearby sector. He could tell, just by hearing him talk, that he was not one of the men who viewed Stormtroopers as professional soldiers, but expendable tools. It was that hollow voice, the kind which had no regard for emotion or the concept that the men marching in stark white uniform were still humans underneath.

Lucky imagined it wasn't exactly hard to forget that, especially if you were raised in the interior of the First Order. Faceless men, all wearing the same helmet. Lucky didn't dislike their helmets, nor was he that dissatisfied with the fact that, from the outside, they were carbon copies. What some would interpret as dehumanizing, he and the other Stormtroopers interpreted as uniformity. One body, one mind, one purpose. They were interlocking gears, all standing shoulder to shoulder. He wondered if the Cerean people would see them as such.

His classes on the Cereans proceeded very slowly. He found them increasingly boring, and the fact that the people were so content to live in isolation and far from technology didn't help him change that opinion. Thousands of years ago, the population of the planet had decided to choose their environment over everything. Because of this, their food production was one of the best in the region, and that itself was one reason why the First Order needed the planet. If they invaded – when they invaded – they would need real food. Most of the First Order worlds were industrialized. Mining, weapons production, training academies, urban settings for the population, and all things in between dotted the surface of numerous worlds. Billions of Imperial soldiers, loyalists and dignitaries had fled the Republic's crooked 'justice system' which would have seen them thrown into a dark cell on Belsavis for their patriotism. What small amount of land they spared from the industry they gave to farmers, but it was only enough to feed the people. With Cerea's agricultural prowess, food could be shipped directly into the front lines.

Still, technology was extremely frowned upon. To the point where people immigrating to the planet who wanted to keep in touch with the modern galaxy lived in citadels, towering high above the forest so as to minimize their impact. Even there, however, things were strictly regulated. As such, gangs were prominent, and crime was at a high rate year round.

"It is very likely that, during your garrison duty on the planet, you will be assigned police roles in these outsider citadels," Derson said as he looked over the room where his entire regiment sat. All one thousand of them had been gathered at in front of the projector, where a series of vids and still images flashed in holos before them, showing images of the Cerean population, landscape, and various cultural aspects. They were still wearing their armor, but they had been allowed to remove their helmets in order to focus on the lecture. Lucky stared at the image of a Cerean that popped up on the holo, rotating slowly to give the viewer a full profile.

Their pale, pasty skin and yellow eyes wasn't that hard to get used to for Lucky. What was bothering him about their appearance was their weird, cone shaped heads that towered well above their eyes. If it wasn't for that, they would have looked human. Their data pads explained that they had a special type of brain that extended upwards, and it required two hearts to supply enough oxygen to it.

"The Cerean government does not want you patrolling the streets of their capital and major cities in large numbers. Outside of the initial parade movements, you won't be spending that much time around the Cereans, with exception to those in the police and military."

Lucky didn't think that sounded too bad. He never thought about it before this moment, but he had no idea how to even interact with a civilian, human or not. They were almost a different species to him just because they didn't understand Stormtrooper lifestyle. Derson continued the lecture on the routines they would be doing.

"At present, we've agreed to stay on Cerea for a year, so it will be your new home. In addition to policing outsider citadels, you will act as the vanguard for hunting down the Resistance cell there. We will work side by side with our Cerean allies and _you will show them respect,_ " he said, leaning forward and glaring at the soldiers before him. He surveyed their faces, seeing if anyone had anything to say. "The last thing the First Order needs is a diplomatic incident because some Stormtrooper goes off halfcocked and pisses off someone high up in Cerean politics. Cerea is crucial for the Order, and the future war."

Lucky couldn't agree more with his officer, and he knew that there'd be no trouble from him. He knew the Order held alien species in low regard, but Lucky had never really met one before. Sure he'd seen videos back when he was young of Wookie barbarism and various other barely intelligent species, but the Cereans looked alright to him.

 **Cerea, Forest of Cul Kalran**

The forests hummed with sound of nature. Birds cawed as they fluttered through the sky, various bipedal creatures swung from the tree tops, screeching out to their fellows as they searched for food and shelter. They stayed clear of one spot in the woods, a deep cave where two Cerean men stood, their faces covered by scarves and vision enhancer goggles over their eyes. They both carries blaster rifles, the one on the left with an A280 left over from the Rebellion days, and the other with an old DC-15A that had been heavily modified and sported a short range scope on the top of it.

They leaned on the rocks outside the cave entrance, idly chatting, when the leaves began to rustle. They both shot up, aiming their blasters at the source of the noise, before quickly lowering them.

"Sorry commander," the one carrying the A280 said nervously.

The man they looked at was Rattataki. His pale white skin and dark yellow eyes stared at them before his lips broke into a serpent like smile. "It's alright, boys," he nearly hissed, suppressing his rage. He quickly brushed past them, figuring that getting them out of his sight would help him forget their insolence.

He should have appreciated their readiness, but he couldn't help view it as fear and panic. And if they'd pulled that trigger? The man shook his head, trying to purge those thoughts from his mind. He needed to control himself, he couldn't be making rash decisions, not when everything he'd worked so hard for was just within his grasp.

As the cave got deeper, signs of technology became more and more apparent. Lights on the walls, crates of food and other supplies lined the sides of the tunnel, and soon the sound of voices could be heard. The Rattataki entered a central chamber where a few people of varying species gathered. They turned to him and gave a brief salute.

"Welcome back, sir," said a human woman. She was eager to hear the news. The Rattataki man suppressed a smile as he prepared to make his announcement.

"Lenora," he greeted her, turning to the other members of his council. They came from all walks of life, some civilian some Republic military, and from all different systems. They were different, but they were united by one thing: hate. Hate for the First Order. What it stands for, what it has done, and what it plans to do. Human, Zabrak, Twi'lek, Cerean, Sullustian, Rodian; they were all here for a singular purpose. A purpose that he had united them behind.

"What's the word, commander?" A Zabrak with pale skin and light brown facial tattoos asked, leaning over the command table in the center. It was covered with maps, troop placements, and various documents that no one had bothered to clear off. Steaming energy drinks sat in small, tin cups around the table, each one belonging to one of the officers in their army.

He smiled, "The First Order is coming in a few days. They're scheduled to do a parade in the capital," he said. His grin morphed into one of bloodlust at the thought of all those white bodies marching around, feeling secure. They had no idea what was coming.

One of the other officers, a Twi'lek named To Bilek, did not look so convinced. "Isn't that the exact opposite of what we wanted?" he asked. He ran a hand nervously over his blue lekku as he awaited an answer. "I mean, Ajon, we've been trying for so long to get Cerea to reject the First Order," he expanded quickly.

The Rattataki nodded, "That's right. But Cerea was always going to bend. The government isn't in tune with the people, you said so yourself," he said sternly. Ajon never liked Bilek, the man was always second guessing him or trying to find a 'better way.' He was a shop keeper before this, living in an outsider citadel. No idea of the concept of getting your hands dirty, doing what had to be done, no matter how hard it was.

"With the First Order coming, we need to prepare for a real war. We're going to bleed them slowly, show the Resistance and the Republic that you have to take the fight to the First Order to stop them. None of this pussy footing around," he snapped suddenly. Everyone looked at the table, not wanting to risk locking eyes with their angry Rattataki commander.

Ajon had one purpose in his life, and that was to kill the Order. He didn't care for how, who died, or what the consequences were. When the resistance denounced him they only helped him achieve these aims. He didn't have to worry about getting orders, he could act as he saw fit.

Sure he wouldn't be getting any off world funding or recruits anymore, but there were plenty of Cereans who were angry with their government for compromising the sacred ground of their planet. Forming alliances with an outside world was not well received in the rural locations of the planet, which were extremely conservative. Ajon was fighting to keep them neutral, and that made him their friend.

"We're going to show the First Order just what a massive mistake they've made." His voice was cold, but everyone around him nodded. They all agreed with his mission. Some may take issues with his methods, but they weren't open about it. The First Order needed to be stopped; and they were fine with letting Ajon lead them.

 _ **Regulator**_

Life had continued as normal for the last few weeks. They trained, excercised, learned about Cerea, what to expect, what kind of people they'd be interacting with, what kind of people they were supposed to have _zero_ interaction with—almost everyone who wasn't a government official—and the specifics of their mission.

The Cerean government was insistent upon the parade. Apparently their request for military aid form the Order was rather unpopular with the populace.

"Think we'll need to do any crowd control?"

Lucky looked up from his datapad. It was 'night time' on the Star Destroyer, and the crew was allowed to relax at this time. Lucky was generally content with reading some of the news reels from the Order heartland. He secretly wondered if one of the people he saw in the holo images were his parents. Shopkeepers, street vendors, businessmen. Was his mother the secretary pictured in the article about how small businesses are donating food to the First Order? Was his dad the journalist pictured at the bottom of the article on the war crimes of the Republic? It would never amount to anything above plain curiosity, but Lucky wondered if they ever thought about him. Their son, serving somewhere in the galaxy. He wondered if they'd given him a name before he was taken to the academy, or if they knew that his fate was to be a soldier and never bothered. His stomach fell as he wondered if he was a slave child, whose parents were forced into giving him up. He knew it happened, and he didn't exactly love the concept, but it was hard for him to argue with it. He didn't imagine life as a slave would be that great.

"Hey, Lucky, you all there?"

Lucky looked up at Duce who was looking at him with mild concern from the bunk across his. He blinked, giving a dull look before clearing his throat.

"Yeah, just kinda got lost in thought."

Their bunks were aligned in corridors, built into the ship walls. It was like a 3 sided coffin—something they all tried not to think about. The closeness of Duce, who was 1322, and himself, 1313, meant that their bunks happened to align right across from each other.

Duce didn't seem completely satisfied, but let it drop. He rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, sticking his elbows up at an angle, obscuring the top half of his face from Lucky's view.

"I was just asking you if you think we're ever gonna have to use our Riot gear on civilians after we get there."

Lucky chewed his lip, propping himself up on his elbow as he lay on his side, "Who knows," he said softly. It was an odd thought that they were going to a planet whose government was allied to them but whose people were discontent. That kind of…. idea didn't make sense to him. A populace that went against the will of its leaders.

Sure they'd been briefed on how different and counterproductive the Cerean ideology was, but since they were content to sticking to their own system Lucky assumed the First Order was fine with that. Cereans didn't like outsiders, they even built special cities for non-natives to live, and the Cerean government was allowing thousands of armed outsiders to roam the planet.

"So what if we do?" A new voice chimed in. They both looked down the corridor to 1307, standing with his shower towel over his shoulder as he climbed into his sleep wear. He had thin black hair and was one of the few men on the ship who was still sporting acne on his cheeks. 1307, or Sev, had always been something of an ass to most people. He had a small group of friends that managed to put up with that, and assure everyone that he _was_ an alright guy, if a bit crass. Sev was someone that Lucky tried to avoid, mostly because he was relentless in his assholery. "If those alien freaks are stupid enough to get in our way we'll beat them down. They've got two brains, man, if they can't use em that's their fault," he said indignantly.

Lucky rolled his eyes, ignoring him, but Duce couldn't let it lie. "I don't know how you can say that man." Duce's face contorted into a scowl as he leaned up slightly in his bunk, propping himself up on both his elbows. "We're going there to show the people that the Order is their ally, we aren't occupying the planet. It'd be different then."

Sev snorted, "Yeah, sure," he dismissed Duce's concern as he climbed into his bunk, rolling over and turning off the overhead light. Duce seemed to want to say something but Lucky shook his head. Sev was one of those guys you couldn't argue with. Eventually he'd either assert you were living in a dream or too unintelligent to comprehend the real situation. Stubborn ass, but he was also one of their best soldiers. Lucky imagined his shitty attitude helped him out with that.

Lucky rolled back in his bunk, looking at his ceiling in thought. The blank, light grey steel held no images for him to look at, nothing to hold his attention. His mind drifted off in the blankness, wondering about his future. He was interrupted as the ship's computers shut off the lights in the barracks, issuing the command that it was, in fact, time for bed. He closed his eyes but the thoughts did not stop coming to him.

War was coming for him, and he was a liar to say he wasn't scared.

Cerea was, literally, a whole other world. They'd received the word not six hours ago that they'd be making planet fall soon, and had gathered in the hangar to depart their vessel. The experience of entering a planet's atmosphere was exciting, the shaking, soft roaring sound of oxygen combusting around the fast moving mile long Star Destroyer echoing in their ears.

The intercom told them that construction of a military suitable space port was still underway, so they'd be departing the _Regulator_ in shuttles and troop transports. Each company was filed onto an AT-TA, a large, four legged transport that housed 100 soldiers in its underbelly. The AT-TA, standing for Arial Troop Transport Assembly, consisted of two parts. The first was a large vehicle capable of flight only in atmosphere. It had a large cockpit that stood about 6 meters high, with the pilots seated at the very top of it. Connected to the cockpit was a 20 meter long, slim piece of metal that connected to the engines, which matched the cockpit assembly in height. The center piece had 3, long, C shaped hooks on each side that stuck awkwardly up in the air. The middle band gave the actual areal part of the transport a hollow center, which was where the ground assembly sat, grappled by rib cage like hooks that were attached to the spine of the air craft. The second part, the walker, had four, stumpy hydraulic legs which moved it forward once on the ground. It was about 5 meters tall and took up most of the space in the gap of the vehicle. It was mainly designed for transport, so there wasn't any serious firepower stowed on board. After all, the odds of an AT-TA being on the front were unlikely. This was for moving soldiers from space to the planet surface, or from the planet to space. Black to blue or blue to black.

Lucky and the rest of his company piled up the ramp into the belly of the transport, taking their seats in order. Since he was 1313, and one of the first on board, he sat in the back, a few rows down from Duce.

This wasn't Lucky's first time in that AT-TA. They'd done some boarding missions and sent them out on a trip through space so the troopers could get a feel for loading, take off, and unloading. They even installed seismic shakers on the sides to simulate anti-aircraft fire a couple times, just to keep the troopers as experienced as possible for real combat. Despite that, his heart was pounding when he felt the familiar feel of the propulsion systems boosting them a few inches off the ground before the real thrusters came into play. No one moved a muscle, all the soldiers sat rigid in their alabaster armor, and Lucky imagined they were all just as anxious as they were ecstatic.

He felt the vessel rotate to the left, lining up with the hangar doors and, with a sudden jolt that caused them all to lean back a little, they burst from the Star Destroyer, and Lucky could feel the slightest of smiles start to form on his lips. The momentum forced him to tighten up his abdomen briefly while he adjusted to the speed. Soaring through the stars, the only thing he was missing was a window. For but a moment, Lucky forgot who he was, and what he was doing. He ignored the feeling of his armor and the weight of the blaster in his hands. The beeps and whirrs of the shuttle became a lullaby, and he closed his eyes in a futile attempt to capture the weightlessness he felt.

A sudden jolt wrenched his eyes open. A voice came over the intercom informing them that they had entered the upper atmosphere of Cerea, and that they would be making landfall in about five minutes. He could feel his stomach sinking as the shuttle pulled out of its entrance dive, levelling out so that it was parallel to the ground. A loud clanking sound, and a 'shwoof' sound from below them signaled that the landing gear and hover thrusters were being deployed. No matter how slow a pilot let them down, the touch-down was always heavy. The shuttle slammed into the ground, and Lucky quickly grasped at the handle by his seat, preventing him from rocking too much.

A green light commanded them to stand, unstrapping themselves from the seats and forming up into a single line. This was it, what they had been training for. Outside these gates was the main military complex of the Cerean government in the capital city. Tomorrow they would march from the complex down the center of the city, then around the outer perimeter, before returning to the complex. For them, as it was apparently important to show just who had arrived in the big silver shuttles.

The gates hissed and slowly cranked open, letting the sunlight flow into the shuttle. The lenses on their helmets adjusted quickly, keeping the brilliant sun out of their eyes. Still, it was the first time since boarding the Star Destroyer that any of them had actually been on a planet, or seen a sun.

Orientation to planetside was long and boring, most of the soldiers eager to get out of the halls and explore the barracks. The curfew was still in effect, after all they needed to be up at 0600 to prepare for the parade through the city. However, there were no training exercises to partake in that night. Command was strict about almost everything, but for the recruits they had made an exception. They knew it was their first time on a real planet since they had been given their names and assignments all those years ago, and that letting them enjoy at least one night would not do them any harm. When the sun finally set, most of the soldiers had found some window or balcony to stand on. The compound was barely separated from the city. Cereans conserved space almost religiously, and despite the high walls and newly hung First Order banners, all a Stormtrooper needed to do was walk outside and he would be able to see natives walking around the streets. The compound was close to the government district, so most of the locals they saw were well dressed dignitaries or their families.

Lucky imagined they were all quite a sight to the Cereans. The entire compound was covered with soldiers dressed in their black sleep pants and stark white shirts. "You know I'd forgotten what they looked like," Lucky heard someone say.

He turned to his left to see Book standing there, having managed to squeeze through the throng of other Stormtroopers, all gazing in the same direction. He held a data pad clutched in his right hand, but his eyes travelled across the horizon. Lucky turned back and nodded, not wanting to say anything. The large, golden Cerean sun was slowly melting behind the tall buildings of glass, shining coper and golden rays off their surfaces. He'd never seen a shade of red as brilliant as the sky. Generations of reducing any kind of airborne pollution had left the atmosphere pure. It was like Cerea's own sacred treasure, bared from being viewed by any other species, and guarded fervently.

Lucky didn't imagine that he'd see another sunset like this on any other planet, and when a sharp buzzing sound cracked through the tranquil scene, he almost contemplated disobeying the call to bed. He imagined the same thoughts went through everyone else's heads too, but as one they all turned and marched off, retreating into the compound.

The next morning was the most hectic experience of his short life. They were roused at 0500, earlier than expected. At first Lucky was worried something might have gone wrong, but his fears were soon dismissed. It had been a test. They'd been allowed to slack off last night and command wanted to see just how much it impacted their readiness. He was quite proud of the fact that their drill and dress times were just as sharp as ever. The rest of the morning was spent in relative normality. They ate breakfast and did some basic drills, getting the blood flowing through their bodies. Book had told Lucky that it was important for them to exercise regularly now that they were planetside. Artificial environment systems aboard the First Order vessels was as good as it got, but at the end of the day it was still fake. Getting their bodies used to real, naturally made oxygen and gravity was important. After a three mile run he started to see just what he meant. His knees ached like they'd never ached before, and he was a Stormtrooper. He knew join aches and pains like they were old friends. Even Dive, who many would have considered the most physically fit, seemed unable to catch his breath for the next thirty minutes.

Soon enough it was nine o'clock, and they were formed up in parade order. Their helmets and armor was freshly molded and cleaned, which made for an impressive look but a pretty uncomfortable fit. Plasteel was never 'comfortable' per say, but Lucky would have traded his old and battered training set for this stiff death suit any day. Leven had commented earlier that the suits made him feel like he was stuck inside a tree, and with as tall as he was it was a pretty accurate description. Still, none of their complaints were voiced openly, not unless they wanted to risk the ire of Captain Derson. He was at the head of the ground, his freshly shined shoulder brace denoting his rank as the commanding officer of the entire 2nd Regiment.

Lucky, as a member of 2nd Regiments' 2nd Battalion, was stationed near the front of the marching column since they were all arranged in numerical order. Lucky could feel a strange sensation of excitement as the doors to the compound opened. They waited there for some time before the order came over.

"RE Corps… March!"

Their footsteps thundered on the hard surface of the ground as they moved forward in unison. As they exited the compound music was playing, curtesy of some Cerean university band. They stood tall as they lead the path for them, playing on enhanced instruments so that the sound could reach the back of the column. 10,000 Stormtroopers came out of the compound, their snow white armor dazzling the eyes of onlookers from the morning sun.

Lucky could never remember ever feeling this proud of wearing the uniform before in his life. He'd been through speeches, orientations, indoctrinations, political rallies and combat drills. He loved his friends, he believed in the First Order, but he'd never felt _proud_ to be a part of it, not like he did in this very moment. The whole planet was watching him, the bringer of a new age, the herald of order and justice.

"Left, Face!"

Lucky and his fellow troopers turned left to see the Mayor of the city and some other government dignitaries from other locations on Cerea. Even the president was there, standing on a raised blue platform, his left hand stuffed into the folds of his maroon colored robe. He gave his a wave of his hand. As trained before, they moved their blasters to their right shoulders so that they were pointed at the sky. The sound of 10,000 soldiers shifting their rifles in plasteel armor was almost as loud as the music.

Then a deafening sound burst through the music, a piercing light erupted before his eyes. The shutters on his helmet automatically adjusted to reduce glare, but the only thing he saw was the crisp blue sky, before he realized he was on his back.


	4. Chapter 4

Our Songs, Our Family

Chapter 4

 _Our Fears_

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars**

 _Earlier_

From their vantage in the apartment complex, Bilek could see the military compound in the distance. Red banners flew over its walls and the soldiers were neatly marching through the streets. He turned, looking to one of the masked Cerean soldiers in his employ. The man nodded at him, "Sir. The senator's family has been restrained, he won't give us any trouble."

Bilek nodded at the soldier, patting him on the shoulder and moving past him quickly. He fiddled with the dark green bandolier on his chest, adjusting it neatly over the black plasteel vest that he wore. It was lighter material than most, but it would do its job of protecting him from anything too damaging. The soldiers around him were all dressed similarly. Dark vests to protect from debris and blunt force blows, but enough that they would be able to move quickly. They all wore some form of civilian trousers, necessary to sneak into the capital city like this, and their faces were obscured by wrappings and gas masks. There were six men in this building, while another six were stationed in the building across the street. Two additional groups, four men each, were stationed at the other levels of the building. These teams were fully blended in, and would assist in the exfiltration of the whole group. Twenty men, some of the best Ajon had to offer him, though Bilek knew that they were all members of his own camp following. He grimaced under his mask at the cruel power play. Any men who died on this mission would hurt him more than it would hurt Ajon, and their Rattataki commander knew it.

Ajon's contacts with local law enforcement helped smuggle them into the capital, making sure that they would be able to get past most checkpoints with relative ease. Still, stealth was of the essence, which is why he chose this VIP's apartment. Cerean government officials valued their privacy, so they would not have to worry about any unwanted visitors. Anyone who did try to gain entrance would be shoed away by the owner.

The Twi'lek ran a hand over his exposed Lekku as he turned towards the old Cerean senator, sitting on rigidly on the couch. "Let me make this quite plain, my friend," he said, trying his best to sound genuine, though he knew that this man would hardly see it that way. "I don't want to hurt you or your family. Whether they get hurt is fully within your control. All you have to do is make sure that anyone who wants to come in to this room goes away." The sound of the marching soldiers growing closer attracted his attention. The six men started rushing around the apartment, preparing for their jobs.

"You do that, and we'll be out of here in no time. But I can promise you, nobody outside that door will be able to save you or your family if you fail this task, okay?" He gave the man a sad half smile and patted his cheek before standing. His eyes turned to the other side of the room where his wife and young daughter were tied up in a corner, gags over their mouths, looking fearfully at him. He hated to put innocents in this position, but it was for the good of Cerea.

He marched back into the other room, where his men were waiting. He'd scraped together all the light weapons he could for this mission, but the kicker was the large rocket launcher. A relic from the old Galactic Empire, it was reliable, accurate, and designed for anti-personnel fighting. It was perfect for this task.

One of the soldiers, a human with light brown skin, picked up the rocket launcher and aimed it out the window. Bilek fetched a pair of binoculars from his pocket and zoomed in on the building across where the rest of his men were stationed. He could see one of his soldiers, a blue Twi'lek, looking back at him. He raised his left hand and gave the okay signal.

Turning his unwavering gaze back towards the column of Stormtroopers he couldn't help but smirk. "Do it."

The human squeezed the trigger on the launcher and the missile flew out with a shrieking hiss, pumping smoke and sparks out the back of the launcher. The cloud of smoke soared down towards the column of soldiers who were just outside the podium, and exploded.

* * *

Lucky was moving, that much he was aware of. His ears were still ringing, and he could feel a hot liquid running down the side of his head. He looked at the sky again, wondering why it had turned red when things started to come back to him.

That was combat tint.

As soon as he made the connection the sounds burst into life. Screaming was the first thing he registered, before he heard another explosion go off, this time further away. He looked to his left to see a Stormtrooper dragging him, firing his blaster with one hand at one of the high rises in the city. His eyes widened as he realized that blaster bolts were also coming _out_ of the high rise. The Stormtrooper's hand was hooked under his chest piece, dragging him by the collar.

He looked back at the Stormtrooper who momentarily looked back at him. It was 1307, he realized as he spied the blue unit designation on the HUD. "You alright!" He shouted as he placed Lucky behind a vehicle, leaning his back up against it. Lucky shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, when he saw another jet of smoke come out from the building, slamming into a group of six Stormtroopers. His eyes widened in terror as they were torn apart by the explosion.

"Lucky! Lucky focus on me!" He heard Sev shout as he poked his head around the vehicle and pumped a few more blaster bolts towards the apartment. "Where's your damn blaster!"

His weapon! He'd forgotten he had it. His mind suddenly registered that it was still in his hand. All those years of training to never let go of his blaster seemed to be paying off. He twisted his abdomen so he was peering out from around the vehicle they had taken cover behind. He raised it, aimed it, not sure what at, and started firing.

He felt the recoil punch through his forearm, jolting his shoulder back. The fear started to fade, the pressure turned to motivation. He was fighting back. His focus returned, and he saw the silhouette of a man in the window. He fired a few bolts towards him but none hit, scorching instead the side of the building, but he felt confident he'd given the bastard a good scare.

He registered a returning blast out of the corner of his eye before he actually heard it coming towards him. A steak of bright blue bearing down on him. He rolled over instinctively, and heard the sound that plasma makes when it burns through plasteel. He turned back around to see Sev on his back, arms spread out far from his sides.

He clambered over, desperately crawling towards the soldier who had saved his life. He pressed his hand down on the man's stomach, using the leverage to lift himself up, and his heart sank. The blaster bolt had burned straight through the center of his chest, completely eviscerating his heart. If he had survived the initial blast, he didn't for very long.

Another bolt crashed into the ground beside him and he turned, aiming back up at the Apartments, only to see that the locations where the incoming fire was had changed, coming instead from lower on the buildings. They were trying to evacuate. He stood and attempted to rush towards the nearest building but bolts raked the ground in front of him, sending chunks of pavement and steel into the air. He fell back down behind the vehicle, still dizzy from the first blast.

Just as soon as it began, it was over.

The blasters stopped firing, and the screams of the retreating civilians had been replaced by terrible cries of agony, as wounded soldiers crawled on the ground or limped to their feet, if they had any left. He could hear people shouting orders against soldiers shouting to see if their buddies made it out.

He tried standing, "Duce!" he called as he forced himself to his feet. He screamed again, a sharp pain cutting through his leg causing him to fall forward, hard. Rolling onto his shoulder, he found himself lying on his back again. Pressure on his chest made him aware of another soldier, and he opened his eyes to see it was Dive. He smiled sadly, happy that his friend was there.

Stormtroopers who had been in the far rear of the column, and thus not experienced any of the actual fighting, were starting to swarm the streets now, forming perimeters and providing cover as medical staff rushed to the scene.

"Here! Over here!" Dive shouted, waving his arm towards a group of corpsmen. The medics rushed over to him and removed his helmet, causing Lucky to blink rapidly at the sudden exposure to sunlight. That wasn't the worst part, though. Without the filtration systems of his head gear, Lucky was fully exposed to the smell of smoke and burned flesh. It coated the air like sludge, and he nearly choked on it. He felt hands lift him up and place him on a stretcher.

"You're gonna be fine, Lucky!" he heard dive say before he was shooed away by the medics. As he was pushed away from the combat zone he could see Stormtroopers rushing forward in the direction of the firing. He looked back up at the sky as the medics mercifully placed an oxygen mask over his face, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Ajon could not have been more pleased with himself. He'd pulled out all the stops, called in every favor big and small that he was owed in the capital, and put himself on the front page of half the galaxy. Word was spreading fast, especially in Cerea.

He stood in a dark room, surrounded by multiple screens and holo communicators. Each one held the image of some journalist shouting in a panicked voice while the blaster bolts rained around them. Holo vids were already being released as families who had been recording the event posted to various social media outlets, spreading the visions of the attack like wildfire. Not to mention the fact that almost every professional news station on the planet had been in the city. Almost immediately, approval ratings of the government were plummeting. People were accusing the president of bringing open war to the capital city, that the arriving army of the First Order was only antagonizing 'minority sentiments' among the population into open rebellion. The blame for the attack was almost completely shifted away from him, and onto a government senator who had been forced to accommodate Bilek and his team.

A blast door opened to the room he was in and he turned his head to see who it was. A cold smirk settled onto his lips as Bilek entered the room, his red skin being painted a faint blue by the immense glow of the holograms and screens. The Twi'lek commander seemed caught off guard by the predatory like smirk and the dark setting of the room, but he rallied quickly.

"I guess you know it was a success," Bilek said, leaning against one of the door frames. His armor was coated in dust and grime, but he seemed unharmed. Ajon almost thought it a pity. "Yes," he replied softly as he turned back to face the monitors. "No numbers yet, but it's over a hundred dead on their side."

Bilek nodded, satisfied with that. He wasn't surprised if the numbers kept increasing, they'd managed to catch them in extremely tight formations. Those anti-personnel missiles did some serious killing.

"We lost two in the escape, and one of our contacts still hasn't checked in, possibly compromised," he informed his commander. When Ajon didn't respond, Bilek chewed his cheek nervously. He looked a mad man in the dark room alone, watching multiple monitors and holo boards of the same scene of carnage. It was like he was worshiping it, like this was his temple. He turned to leave when his commander's emotionless voice spoke behind him.

"Good work today, Bilek."

Bilek looked over his shoulder, but instead of pride or gratitude all he felt was suspicion. "Thank you, sir."

* * *

Lucky had been awake for some time now, sitting up in the hospital bed. It was a windowless room with pale white lights shining off the drab white walls. It hurt his eyes just to look at them and he almost wished he had his helmet on for the glare reducing lenses it provided him.

Worse than that was the boredom, the not knowing anything, and the fact that there was a no visitors policy. He'd been stuck in the medical center for four days while his leg healed. He'd been concussed in the attack, and the way he landed had sprained his ankle pretty badly. Still, he expected to be discharged today, most of his injuries were healed. Now it was just protocol.

The automatic door hissed open as a Cerean man in a white coat entered; his doctor. "RE-1313, how are we today?" he asked kindly, but there was a hint of discomfort. The Cereans had been treated rather rudely since the attack. Many of the Stormtroopers blamed them for not having the security tighter around the event, and the doctor was forced to work in a rather hostile environment. Still, the old Cerean man carried on with his duty, just like the rest of them.

It would have been a fine alternative career to this, that's for sure. Lucky could see himself in a hospital at odd hours, doing his best to help the injured and sick. It was a noble calling, something they both shared.

Except while his doctor cared for the wounded, Lucky would be the one wounding people.

"Doin' fine, doc," Lucky replied. "Just waiting for my release."

The Cerean man's eyes stared at Lucky from under his brow for a moment before flicking back to the chart in his hands. "Well your injuries have all healed, and we've given you the recommended down time…" he drawled slowly as he tapped on the datapad. Lucky could hear the clicking of keys as his long fingers danced over the surface.

"Yep, you are good to be released," he said with a genuine smile. Lucky grinned at the doctor and tossed the sheet off him. "Easy, son. Your ankle is healed but it's been a while since you've walked. Take it slow," he advised.

Paying no heed to the Cerean doctor, Lucky swung his legs over the bed and felt them touch the cool ground. He stood up and felt the world go sideways. The doctor quickly caught him and helped him stabilize his balance. When the stars and black spots cleared from his vision he stood tall, rolling his stiff shoulders and neck. He gave the doctor a grateful not and he quickly left to fetch him his clothes.

Stripping out of his hospital gown and donning the bland off duty uniform he made his way through the unfamiliar medical wing of the compound. He could see other Stormtroopers moving around, men who were worse off than he. He saw one sitting in a wheel chair, his left leg gone. The man stared at him with hollow eyes as he passed. Behind the defeated stare he could see envy and anger. Angry at the fact that Lucky still had his legs; that he could walk and carry on the fight. He glanced at the room he sat outside and saw the words 'RE-1287, RE-1279, RE-1282 and RE-1261' on the listing.

He quickly moved on, not wanting to linger in the out of action troopers' gaze any longer. The poor man had lost his entire life with that leg. They'd probably attach a prosthetic and send him to garrison duty, or even non-combat all together. He hoped they'd get him a good enough one to send him back to the front, with bionics as good as they were today, but he doubted it. The First Order didn't take those kinds of chances.

Managing to get his location from the direction board at the corner of the hall, he managed to navigate his way out of the hospital and into the waiting room, where he was glad to find some of his friends waiting for him. Duce, Book, Dive, even Frosty, stood as he exited the sliding doors, announcing his presence with a sharp hiss.

"If it isn't the hero," Dive called out mockingly, a bright grin on his face. Duce rushed forward and the two shook hands. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Lucky."

Book nodded, a small smile on his face. He was happy, Lucky could tell, but Book would be Book; quiet as always. He turned to Frosty who shifted a little, before smiling ever so slightly. "It's good to see you recovered," he said simply.

"Take it down a notch, Frost, I might start crying," Dive chimed in, causing Frosty's ever small smile to subside into a scowl.

"Relax you two, the rest of the group is waiting in the barracks for you," Duce interrupted, turning back to Lucky with solemn eyes. "A lot of things have changed, man," he added as the five soldiers exited the hospital wing and entered the court yard.

Lucky was immediately taken aback at how much had changed. Hover craft zoomed across the yard, soldiers in tow, and the ramparts had been beefed up with mounted cannons and missile defense systems. Soldiers were being drilled in nearly every available space that wasn't occupied by hover-tanks or other land assault craft. He turned to the rest of the group with a curious look.

"Three hundred and sixty-two dead," Book said stoically. "Nearly every single 1200 was killed in the attack."

Lucky's mind darted back to the room full of 1200 soldiers. It made sense, thinking back. The first rocket had exploded in front of him, which meant that it would have hit the direct center of the 1200 company. Lucky's mood was further soured by the next number he gave.

"We only recovered two bodies from the ambush cite."

Two men for three hundred? Lucky could feel his blood boiling, and he knew the attitude was shared even by the normally reserved Book. Times were changing, that was an understatement. In one moment they had gone from peace keepers to fully mobilized soldiers.

* * *

Colonel Derson moved swiftly down the hall, the various soldiers and non-combat personnel quickly parting for the imposing figure. The commander of the entire RE-2nd Regiment had lost over three hundred soldiers on their first deployment, and he nearly radiated rage.

Someone had dropped the ball, and there had better be a good damn explanation. When he burst into the command center, all heads turned to see him. There were ten other people in the room besides him. Major Duforin, the commander of the RE Corps, looked a little worse for wear. He'd probably been chewed out by high command by now, which was fine by Derson. There was Ivoran, Commander of the 3rd Regiment. He gave him a soft nod of respect as he entered. 3rd Regiment had been the only other regiment to take any casualties, though they were light. Only twelve of the 362 men who had died were from the 3rd Regiment. The other regimental commanders were also present, each one in their formal uniforms.

The mood was sour, with many of the Regimental commanders furious at Duforin, which meant that their leader would be gunning to shift the blame to none other than Derson.

"How in the blazes did we miss this?"

Duforin scowled at Derson as the colonel's voice boomed over the deadly still room.

"Do not speak out of turn, Derson," Duforin snapped. Colonel Relonc, commander of the 7th Regiment interjected quickly. She leaned forward, placing her gloved hands on the table. "Sit down, Derson. We know your Regiment took the brunt of the damage in the attack, but-"

"The _'brunt?"_ he repeated, moving towards his chair at the table. He gripped the top of it tightly, gritting his teeth together. "Three _hundred_ and fifty men from my regiment died in the blasted streets on their first day planetside!" He smashed his fist on the table. The dark haired woman opted to keep quiet, though she gave him a look that showed she did not appreciate his outburst.

"How did our Cerean 'allies' miss such a blatant move by the Resistance?"

All their heads turned to Duforin, who's normally pale skin had turned red. "Sit. Down." Despite his outrage, Derson complied. He was a Stormtrooper, after all, and he would listen, but he would not let Duforin off the hook. As he made a move to sit, Duforin continued.

"We're looking into it now, and I've received word that six members of local law enforcement have been arrested for possible connections of Ajon and the resistance movement. However…" He paused, drumming his fingers across the table top. "We have gotten some intelligence out of them. They only seemed to be aware of the movements of troops, not Ajon's location, but we did manage to get a name."

Duforin pressed a button on the table and a hologram sprung up out of the center, revealing a Twi'lek male.

"Bilek Toqema. An immigrant to Cerea six years ago. Used to run a horticulture store in one of the outsider cities, but was a well-respected member of the community. Cereans and other aliens to the planet counted him as a friend. No prior military service in the republic, but we imagine he is something of a rallying character for the locals," he said.

"It was Bilek who made contact with the traitors in the capital, and pressed them to allow his soldiers to move unmolested through the sewers, then to their vantage points where the ambush occurred," Duforin explained.

The ten Officers around the table watched the hologram as it rotated the Twi'lek's head, giving them all a clear image of his likeness. Not that it changed much to Derson; they all looked the same to him. He felt his knuckles grind as he clenched his fist upon seeing the face of the man who had killed so many of his soldiers. His impassive, holographic eyes brushed past him slowly, as if taunting him.

Duforin typed in a few more keys and the face was gone, slipping away from Derson once again. In its place was a large grid map. A spot on the map started to glow red, and a tag appeared that denoted it as the capital. "The capital city is now under lockdown. Our forces will stage joint operations with local law enforcement to ensure the population remains calm and accepting of our rule." Duforin levelled a steely gaze at the officers under his command.

"This is now a formal military occupation, granted by the leader of Cerea," he added softly.

Derson's eyes travelled back to the map as circles began appearing in the woods and fields around the capital city, each circle containing a marking of one of the regiments of the RE-Corps. "In the meantime, we will begin securing the land around the capital citadel, rooting out any nearby insurgent outposts."

"Will we be receiving any reinforcements?" The commander of the 5th, Baltisan, asked, his green eyes never wavering from the sector he seemed to be soon patrolling.

An uneasy silence overtook Duforin. He chewed his lip, agitation written on his face. The wrinkles on his skin became more pronounced as he straightened up slightly. "Command will be shipping in reinforcements to fill the ranks of 2nd Regiment back to full combat efficiency. Other than that… no."

It was the commander from the 9th Regiment's turn to speak up, a black skinned woman named Filian. "And just how are we supposed to pacify a planet with 10,000 soldiers?" she asked, taken aback by such a notion. The room nodded silently in agreement, and Derson could see Duforin starting to lose his patience.

"Because the First Order has commanded us to!" he snapped harshly. Colonel Filian leaned back in her seat, her dark eyes glowering but obedient.

"Derson! You and your men are going to remain in the capital and root out traitors and dissidents. With less than 700 soldiers at your command we cannot afford to have you out in the field," Duforin said, quickly attempting to divert attention away from his own misfortune.

"Sir?" Derson hissed. He began to protest but another voice spoke next, the commander of the 4th Regiment. "Derson, I'm sure you men will be more than willing to seize and eliminate the men responsible for this attack. The best place to do so is in the city."

Derson stared at his fellow officer, a balding pale skinned individual named Surmin. Derson could tell he was trying to help him, Duforin would only tolerate so much disobedience before taking action, but he could not help but feel patronized.

Still, Derson leaned back, sitting silently and staring at the glowing red ball that was the capital as Duforin read off orders and commands to the rest of the officers in attendance. He'd make sure everyone knew the iron fist of the First Order. They could strike at him all they wanted, but he would always strike back harder.

He swore it on all the men who had died.

* * *

 **AN: Short Chapter I know, but I feel like its an appropriate spot to stop. Next one will be longer, I swear!**

 **Edit - Made minor changes in this chapter, dealing with all these numbers is a lot more confusing than you'd expect!**


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